A Study in Romance
by shippershape
Summary: Based off the tumblr prompt: You're my tutor on a subject that I can easily ace but I'm only acting stupid because I really want to know how your lips taste and feel like against mine (au).


"Okay, focus." Clarke muttered as she glared at Bellamy and he continued to tap out drum beats with his pencil. "We've been here for two hours, I know you could get this if you just pay attention." He glanced up at her.

"I am paying attention, princess." Clarke groaned.

"No, you're not. And don't call me princess." Grabbing his pencil from his hand, she ignored the way their brushing skin felt like an electric shock. She, too, needed to focus. She'd been tutoring Bellamy Blake in their English course for two months now, and while she appreciated the extra practice, she was beginning to feel like he just wasn't trying. She remembered the first day she'd noticed him in class, all tousled hair and intense brown eyes. And the freckles, oh those freckles. Her father would have said they added character to his face. The artist in her would have agreed. Either way, he was gorgeous, and she had not failed to notice that. He walked with that easy confidence she had always wished she had. She walked with purpose, or at lease that was the nicest way her friends had found of saying she rushed. There was no rushing going on here. They'd been sitting in a secluded corner of the study hall for hours, and they weren't making any progress. Sighing, she wrote out the two passages again.

"Okay, here, the author writes about the morals in Romantic literature, versus modern and post-modern era literature. How they change." She scribbled a few notes in the margins of his text book. She always did, not that she actually believed he read them.

"Morals? In romance novels? I don't think so." Bellamy made a face. Clarke sighed, loudly.

"Not romance like, Nora Roberts. The Romantic era. It's a time period. We covered all of this in class." She said suspiciously. He was bright, she knew it. He acted like he wasn't an academic, like he was just in college as a means to an end, but she had seen his brilliance first hand. The jokes he made, the references. She wasn't sure what he was playing at, who the act was for, but it was beginning to wear thin. As she looked over at him to see if he was actually paying attention, their eyes met. She realized he'd been staring at her. "What?"

"Hmm?" He asked, pulling his eyes from her face to look at the text. She frowned.

"Do I have something on my face?" He didn't look up.

"No."

"Okay…" She decided to let it go, in the hopes they could wrap this up and she could go home and finish her Art History paper.

"So, romance." He was looking at her again. Clarke lost her train of thought, clearing her throat as it came back to her.

"Yes. For the paper coming up you're going to want at least three sources, primary source material from each era would probably be best, each with a distinct set of moral themes. And then you can just compare and contrast. Write about how they're different. Pretty straightforward." She held out the pencil, and as he took it their hands touched again. This time, he lingered, and Clarke shivered. She pulled back her hand.

"Sounds fun. Listen, what are you doing later?" He asked her, and she found herself more than a little surprised.

"I have a paper due." She watched his eyes go wide in panic. "In a different course don't worry." He visibly relaxed.

"Oh. Alright." He started packing up his things, and Clarke's curiosity got the better of her.

"Why?" She asked, sitting back in the chair. He looked suspiciously over at her.

"What?"

"You never ask me about my plans. We've been meeting three times a week for the past two months and you've never asked. Why now?" Now he was really looking at her, but not in the good way, not the way that made her heart pound and her toes curl. He was looking at her like he thought she was a lunatic.

"I'm going to the pub later. Thought you might want to go." He shrugged, and Clarke had to quash the flutter of regret in her stomach. She could go to the pub whenever. Tonight she had a paper due. Besides, she knew Bellamy had a reputation, there was more than one comment etched on walls on the various ladies bathrooms around campus, and after her last relationship she really didn't need anymore drama in that department. The whole love triangle that had unfolded between her ex and her ex's ex, Raven, had really ruined the idea of a tumultuous romance for her. She wanted something reliable. Bellamy Blake was certainly not that. Getting to her feet, she slung her bag over her shoulder.

"Well, I guess I'll see you on Thursday." She said, turning away. She got almost four feet before turning back. Bellamy was still packing his things, and he glanced up at her.

"Forget something?" He asked. She nodded.

"Yeah. You're smart. You're really smart, Bellamy." He just blinked, clearly taken aback.

"I… I mean sure, about some stuff." He shrugged again. Always so nonchalant. It had annoyed Clarke when they first met. Now it really pissed her off.

"Shut up." She muttered. She was tired of this self deprecating act. It was the one thing about him that actually was stupid. Once again, he just looked surprised. Then his expression changed to irritation.

"What's your problem?" He asked angrily.

"You. You're my problem. I don't mind tutoring you, I mean I wouldn't mind. But you're obviously brilliant. Are you just pretending not to get this stuff?" He didn't say anything, but that was answer enough. "God, why? For whose benefit? I've seen the papers you wrote in your other classes, I saw your thesis on the implementation of labour laws in third world countries. Why are you pretending not to get this?" Clarke had steadily moved toward him as she ranted, her voice getting louder. By the time she had finished she was practically shouting in his face. He looked a little scary, towering over her with that thunder on his face. Scary, but still sexy. She really hated that.

He reached out, and for a second Clarke thought he was going to hit her. Instead, his arm snaked around her waist, closing the last bit of distance between them and pulling her flush against him. She didn't have time to think before he was kissing her, his mouth warm and insistent on hers.

Her mind shut down, and her body was acting alone, hands tangling in his hair, mouth opening and practically begging for more. He complied, lifting her and setting her down on the table. This freed Clarke to wrap her legs around his waist, wondering vaguely somewhere in the back of her mind what on earth she was thinking. Then Bellamy stepped forward, between her knees, and she could feel his abs pressed against her. _This is not what you wanted. _She tried to tell herself. _Bellamy Blake is trouble._ It didn't matter. She didn't care if he was trouble, not with the way he _felt_. It was like his skin was electric, it burned where he touched her, she was so hot she could feel the beads of sweat beginning to build on her back. His lips were soft, but firm, and she was beginning to think she would do anything just to keep them exactly where they were. Then they moved, and he was kissing her neck, and how did he know how much she liked that spot? She groaned, head falling back, and that was when she heard it. It was a loud cough, the kind you made when someone was doing something inappropriate. Like, say, dry humping on a table in the study area. She pushed Bellamy, hard, and he staggered backwards.

They stayed like that for a minute, staring at each other and panting. Clarke slid off the table, adjusting her clothes that had been compromised.

"Well." She said. Part of her wanted to tackle Bellamy and do him right there on the floor. The other part was beginning to recognize that no one had ever made her feel like that before, not even close, and was terrified. When she'd broken up with Finn it had been a nightmare. There had been kleenex and sappy movies and too many nights with too many margaritas. She had loved Finn. But the way Bellamy was looking at her right now was quite literally making her knees weak, and she wished she could say it was just lust, oh how she wished for that.

But it wasn't. Clarke knew herself, and she knew this was more. She didn't get angry at people, not ever, and she had been so angry at Bellamy just a few minutes ago that she had wanted to throw one of the chairs at him. She had yelled at him. She only yelled at people she loved. Her survival instincts kicked in, and Clarke backed away, making her way towards the door. She turned, continued walking. It wasn't until then that she realized her hands were shaking.

"Clarke." Bellamy called from behind her. She didn't turn around. "That's why." He said. She didn't answer him.


End file.
